Relapse
by MinkaMouse
Summary: Jason Todd was her lifeline and when he died, she felt like she had as well. But she didn't. Unfortunately. Now all Suri wants is to be able to see him again but now that he's right in front of her, she doesn't recognize him. Jason/OC
1. Chapter 1

_A/N_

 _Hello! Thank you so much for clicking on my story :) I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think! I hope to upload the next chapter soon!_

 _I only own what I own._

* * *

 _...You've put a fever inside me and I've been cold since you've left..._

 _...I'm begging you to keep on haunting me..._

 _...Cause I've done some things that I can't speak..._

 _...I know you're gonna keep on haunting me..._

 **Chapter One: Haunting**

Whenever she sticks the needle into her arm (or shoves the pills down her throat) and closes her eyes, she sees him and she's happy.

He's younger than her now – he has been for a couple of years – but she doesn't mind. Seeing him this way, in perpetual youth, comforts her.

At least in her mind, he's safe. He's alive.

When she opens her eyes, he's still there. His dark hair is tousled, brushing against his forehead, and his bright eyes are serious but she can see the mischievous twinkle in them. He always tried to look and act tough, like the world has scorned him – _and it has_ , but she knew better. She knew that deep down he cared. He cared about her, about people. He was loyal, selfless.

Tonight, he wasn't smiling. She hoped that he would be, it was a rare sight to see, but she guessed that she just wasn't lucky right now. Every time she saw him, he wore a different expression on his face. Sometimes his mouth is quirked upwards in a smirk while other times (the rare occasions she treasures) the smirk is soft around the corners of his mouth – a smile. Those two are her favorite, she thinks that they fit him well, but most of the time all she gets from him is a scowl.

It was like he was disappointed in her.

She's not surprised. If he were with her right now, actually with her, he wouldn't be happy. She had succumbed to the bad habits that they swore they wouldn't turn to. They didn't want to be like their parents. They had promised themselves that no matter how hard life got, and life got _really_ hard, they wouldn't run away from their problems the same way they did.

But he was gone and so the promise was forfeited and she ran.

The vision of him was always the same height as her. She had thought that he'd always be taller than her. She imagined that he would always be big enough to shield her, protect her, but the boy she saw in front of her was, well, a boy. They could gaze into each other's eyes without inclining their heads.

Whenever they looked each other, really looked at each other, she saw that he always looked disappointed, sad even. The corners of his lips didn't need to turn down for her to see that.

It's been so long.

She can't remember that last time she _didn't_ see him. She had become dependent, lost in her own mind. Sometimes she would wake up in places she's never been before, in rooms and beds she doesn't recognize with people she's never seen and never saw again.

She used to wake up confused, scared, but now it had become routine for her. It was an easy routine to follow. It only had two steps:

1\. Wake up and take the drug

2\. Repeat step 1

After the effects kick in, the events that happen after are a blur to her, nothing but a dream that fades within the first few minutes of being awake. All she can focus on is him. Everything else around her, the people and the places, are nothing but passing images. Minor details. Nothing relevant.

She knows she's been taken advantage off. She's woken up several times in the middle of their acts but all they need to do is drug her again and she's no longer fighting to keep them off of her. If they're nice, they leave a couple of bills for her before they leave. She doesn't know what she does with them.

It takes a while for her to realize that she's awake. Like _really_ awake. She already feels her hands reach out to look for her bag. She can't _not_ see him. She sits up from the bed she's lying on and feels the blanket on her chest fall. She looks down.

She's naked.

She takes the sheet and pulls it back up to cover herself as she scans the room for both her purse and the man who has taken her. She hopes that he's nice and would take her back to where he found her. She was never really good with directions.

She doesn't find her bag but she finds two men in the room.

She's a little bit surprised but can't say that it hasn't happened before.

A few seconds pass before she realizes that the men are not in the bed with her and one of them is unconscious, not the good kind, and on the floor. His eyes are rolled back and his mouth his agape, saliva dripping out of it. If she squints, she can see blood on his face as well.

The second man is fully dressed from head to toe. In the dark she can see that he's wearing a black top that hugs his body nicely, showing of his hard muscles, and dark pants and boots. He's wearing a brown leather jacket as well.

If he were wearing _just_ that, she wouldn't think twice about him but this man was strange. On his black shirt he had a red symbol painted on it, it sort of looked like a bat, and on his head he wore a red helmet. Okay, maybe he wasn't _that_ strange. Maybe he had driven a motorcycle here and just didn't remove his helmet but – wait – were those _guns_ hanging on his hips? How did she _not_ notice those first?

Now she was scared.

"Are you okay?" the man asked, startling her. She grips the sheet closer to her body.

"Where's my bag?" She finds herself asking because after processing her surroundings, she finds that she still doesn't know where her bag is and she needs _it._ It's been too long since she's seen him. He might be lost forever if she doesn't act quickly.

The man steps closer to her. "I asked you a question."

She knows that. She heard him but frankly she had her own priorities.

"I'll be okay when I have my bag," she tells him because it's true.

She doesn't know what to feel in a situation like this. Was she supposed to be okay? She only knew how to feel when she couldn't feel anything at all. Her eyes aren't adjusting to the darkness of the room so looking around from her place in the bed was not helping her one bit. She makes a move to stand up and the moment her feet touch the ground, she falls.

It seems like she's forgotten how to walk. Her legs feel numb and it hurts to move them. She almost feels like crying.

She can't bear to look up at the man in the room. Although she (literally) can't see his face, she can feel his stare. He's judging her. She's embarrassing.

From down here, she can't see her bag anywhere but she does find her shoes. She reaches for them and somehow finds a way to put them on her feet without the blanket sliding off of her. She thinks about what she was wearing. Did she wear pants or shorts? A skirt or a dress? Would she have to walk out of here in nothing but a sheet and sneakers?

The piece of fabric lands in front of her and she looks up to see the man's back facing her. He seems to be looking around the room as well and she's thankful. She sees that she had worn shorts and looking inside she's grateful that her underwear is there as well.

Quickly, she slips it on, accidentally banging her head on the bedside table when she leans back as she lifts up her bum. She ignores the man's question of whether or not she's okay and she tries to stand up again. She wobbles but stays on her feet. The blanket hangs over her shoulders now and she holds it together with her hands.

She moves around the room and sees that her purse is neither on the study desk nor the vanity desk. She does see ripped fabric hanging over a chair and frowns when she finds out it's her shirt. She finds her bra soon after and is glad that it's mostly in one piece.

"Here," the man says handing her his jacket. He's looking elsewhere and she takes this as her chance to drop the blanket and slip on his jacket. It's warm and heavy and smells faintly of cigarettes.

"Do you really need your bag?" He asks. "What does it even look like?"

"I think it's a backpack," she offers quietly. She doesn't actually remember. "Maybe a sling bag?"

"You don't remember?" He snaps, annoyed.

"I don't remember a lot of things," she fires back, tense because it's been _too long_ and he's fading away. "I'm sorry." She doesn't want him mad at her. He has guns.

The man doesn't say anything and moves to the opposite side of the room. She feels guilty. She tries to look inside the cabinet but sees nothing but suits, tailored pants, and ties. She also sees white shirts and thinks about stealing one but decides against it. The cabinet and everything in it smells like detergent and she prefers the scent of cigarettes.

"Hey, is this it?" The man asks, holding up a bright yellow backpack upside down. The flap opens and everything inside it spills out. He swears loudly and bends down to pick up the fallen objects. He finds a mirror, a toothbrush, mascara, a tampon (he tosses that into the bag quickly), and her drugs. The needle and the pills. He doesn't put them back in her bag.

"You won't be needing these," he says coldly, crushing them in the palm of his hands before dropping them to the floor and promptly stomping on them with his heavy foot.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" She screams, running and dropping to her knees in front of him. They're useless now – crushed and shattered and broken. She looks back at the man and she has tears running down her cheeks. "You _asshole_! Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

"I saved your life," he answers, grabbing hold of her harm and dragging her out of the room. She can't do anything but follow him. He's much stronger than her.

"You've killed him!" She can't keep her voice down and frankly she doesn't want to. Who knows what he can hear through his helmet?

"Killed _who_?" The man asks, his voice rose as well. Anger radiated from him but she was no longer scared of him. Right now she had nothing to lose.

" _Him!_ "

" _Him? Him_ who?"

"Jason!" She sobbed because when she tried to think of his face, she couldn't. " _Jason Todd!_ "


	2. Chapter 2

_'_ _Cause I'm terrified_

 _That those wrinkles by your eyes_

 _Will become blurry lines_

 _In a couple of years from now_

 _When I'm thinking of your face_

 _And suddenly it fades from me_

 **Chapter Two: Brisbane**

The worst was over; at least that's what she thought.

She has never felt like this before because she's never been without it, without _him_ , before.

The first few days were hell. She couldn't control the shake in her hands. They wanted _it._ Every which way she looked, they reached out, looking for it. But it wasn't here anymore. _He_ wasn't here anymore.

She felt like she was dying.

No matter what he or she did, she couldn't stop sweating.

When the sweating stopped, she couldn't move.

Her head spun whenever she got out of bed and it hurt to lift her arms and legs. He had thought that it was the flu but they both knew better. This wasn't happening because she was sick. Or, sick in _that_ way.

They fought.

She always thought she was a patient person – she _remembered_ being patient – but due to recent events, she couldn't help but snap at him which triggered him to snap right back at her. They had screaming matches that only ever ended when she cried.

She thought that she was going crazy and she was sure that he thought that she was, too.

But between the two of them, _he_ was the one parading around Gotham in a red helmet and a bat painted on his chest. Really, _he_ was the crazy one.

She missed him when he left though.

After all, it was just the two of them living in his apartment. It was a decent sized apartment, good for two people to live comfortably. He had his room and she had hers. They had to share a bathroom though but they never had to wait on each other. She showered in the middle of the day (when she woke up) while he did it in the middle of the night or in the wee hours of the morning.

She wondered if it was a good idea living with him. She didn't know the man and she could see that he was dangerous with his large build and weapons. If he were to get mad and attack her, she wouldn't know how to defend herself. But, if she were to leave him, she'd have nowhere to go. She doesn't remember having a home before this. In fact, she couldn't remember a lot of things. Years under the influence had left a gaping hole in her memory.

She guessed she should be grateful. The man had helped her and given her a roof over her head without asking for anything in return. He also kept her company, which she found slightly odd considering he didn't seem like the type who enjoyed being with other people.

Everyday, for an hour after her shower, when her hair was stuck to her face and soaked the back of her shirt, they would sit together on his living room sofa. He would read his books (he had an admirable bookshelf in the middle of his living room) while she would try to draw him. Sometimes they would talk, he would recommend her something to read and she would tell him to sit a certain way so that she'd have a new angle of him to draw. They found comfort in each other's presence.

The sketchpad he gave her was filled with sketches of him and his apartment. She didn't see much else.

She can't remember the last time she's been outside. Now that her head was (mostly) clear, she could see all the things that she's missed the past few years. She really missed the sky and looking out the window just didn't do it justice. He wouldn't let her leave though. She wasn't better yet and he couldn't risk her walking out on her own.

She suggested that he go with her (because she actually didn't know where they were and she knew she'd get lost) but he reminded her that he would only draw unwanted attention if he strolled down the street in his get up.

His helmet.

She had gotten so used to seeing his face concealed that she'd forgotten that she's never actually seen his face before. Of course he didn't _always_ wear his helmet around the apartment, she imagined that he'd be in a really rotten mood if he did. When he took the helmet off, he would replace it with a domino mask to cover his eyes. She didn't expect such a flimsy thing to hide his identity the way it did.

But then again, she didn't even know who he was so what was there to lose if he showed her his face?

* * *

Tonight she realized that she had somehow gotten into the habit of waiting for him to come home. She didn't do it on purpose. She just found herself unable to fall asleep most nights. That, and she was restless – really, _really_ restless. She couldn't sit still. She paced from one side of her room to the other and when she stubbed her toe on her dresser, she paced the entire apartment, going from the entrance to the door of his room.

She had prepared herself a bowl of cereal and ate half of it. She washed the dishes and checked the refrigerator to see if anything inside it has expired. After, she disappeared into her room and brought out her sketchpad.

Closing her eyes, she thought about him. The boy. She could see the shape of his face and the clothes on his back but his face...she couldn't picture his face. When she tried, it was like someone had smudged his features away with the palm of their hands, mixing all the colors together. She felt an ache in her chest as she drew an outline of him. He stood with his shoulders square and his hands in his pockets. Stiff. She figured she would be tense, too, if she didn't have a face.

Sometimes she wonders if he was real. She stares at the corner of her room and she can almost see him standing there. _Almost._ When she tries to focus on him, he disappears. It was like he was a dream that she couldn't hold onto once she woke up.

She thinks about running away. She thinks about what would happen if she took _it_ again. She likes the idea of seeing _him_ again. All she ever wants is to see him but... the man would be mad. She knows that he'll find her and...she doesn't want him to be angry with her. She doesn't know why yet.

She feels a tear run down her cheek as she looks down at her paper. A faceless boy. She can't seem to remember his name so now he's nameless as well.

Upset, she walks out of her room and into the kitchen area. She think about sitting on the bar stools as she waits for the man but when she gets there, she sees that he's already home. His helmet, jacket, and shirt are on the kitchen table along with a large white box – a first aid kit. His back is to her and she sees that not only is it bleeding but it is also covered in scars. Some are small and fading, others are long and screaming for attention.

She walks up to him and places a hand on his back, she's forgotten about the concept of "personal space."

The man jumps in his seat and his hands automatically go down to the guns hanging on his hips. She realizes her mistake and thinks that maybe tonight she's going to die.

She feels a sense of calm wash over her at that thought.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm sorry for the lack of dialogue in this chapter! I hope to have the two talking in the next :)_

 _I hope you all enjoyed reading this! Please let me know what you think! Stay tuned for the next chapter!_

 _I only own what I own._


	3. Chapter 3

_Like you lost your home and the shelter's gone_

 _You're stuck in the storm outside_

 _Feels like you've gone blind and you can't see life_

 _But it's right before your eyes_

 **Chapter Three: Align**

The apartment is so quiet that he can hear his own heartbeat.

He figured that it would be another night of him being alone with his wounds and weapons, not that he minded. It was comforting to know that even though she was living with him now, he didn't have to hide much from her. She knew what kind of person he was so she was unfazed with his attire and his nightly disappearances. She'd seen him polish his guns and wipe mud off of his shoes. She even helped him wash out blood from his shirt and jacket on more than one occasion. She never asked him about them though. She respected his privacy and didn't try to find out what he did, who he was behind his mask or what he had behind the door of his room. All she ever did help him.

She's never been around to help him with his wounds though. He had made sure that she didn't get to see them.

He had memorized her routine by now and knew that he would not be seeing her until the afternoon. This was good because this way, she didn't catch him all bloody and dirty. He didn't want her to worry about him. Well, he wasn't sure if she would worry for him but something told him that if she saw him right now, she would. It was in her nature, he knew.

The steady rhythm of his heart skipped a beat when he felt a hand on his back and he reacted on reflex. He was just about to bolt up from his seat, ready to aim his gun at the intruder when he realized _who_ it was. He didn't know _how_ he figured it out without even looking back, he just _knew._

If it made any sense, her touch was familiar.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and relaxed. He releases his hold on his weapons and allows them to fall into their holsters. He goes back to bandaging his wounds. It was a rough night but he was alive and that's all that mattered.

Her hand is still on his back and he feels her fingers trace one of his many scars. He doesn't think that she's doing it consciously.

"Don't do that," he tells her and he feels the ministrations stop. "Don't sneak up on me."

"I thought that you'd sense I was there," she tells him in a soft voice and he knows she's right. He was trained better than this. He shouldn't have been startled.

"I thought that you were asleep." He places the bandage on the table and winces because something on his back stings like hell. He'd have to find a way to contort his body in front of the mirror to treat his wounds. Or just wash them in the shower and let them scab and heal on their own.

"I think you'll need stitches," she says, reaching over his shoulder to get the equipment needed to treat his wounds. He stops her.

"Do you know how to stitch?" He doesn't look at her. He's not wearing his helmet and he didn't have his mask on either. He's not sure if he's ready for her to see him.

"I have a faint memory of doing it before."

"How faint is this memory? What if you were patching up a pair of pants?"

She scoffs. "Just trust me." She reaches over his shoulder again and he looks the other way.

He focuses his gaze on the wall in front of him, trying to take his mind away from the gentle tug on his skin. It stings but he doesn't mind. He's been through worse. She apologizes whenever he lets out a hiss but he's quick to assure her that he's fine and she should just hurry up.

"Don't rush me," she would mutter and he can just imagine her eyebrows knitting together in concentration. "Do you want me to mess up?"

"Doesn't matter," he would tell her. "If it leaves a scar, I wouldn't know. I can't see my back."

"I'll stitch the patter of a dick on your back."

He lets out a laugh and she scolds him for moving but he can't help it. He did not expect her to say something so crude.

"Please don't," he chuckles, the smile on his face not leaving. He's sort of glad she can't see his face.

"You wouldn't know anyway. You can't see your back." He can hear the smile in her voice. "I'm almost done."

He nods his head and feels himself calm down. "How did you learn to do this anyway? You don't seem like someone who's had medical experience."

The tugging stops and he feels his skin throb. "...I don't know."

He can sense her tense up and he immediately regrets his question. Why did he ask that? He already knew the answer.

There was a scar that went down the skin where his thumb met his wrist. He had gotten it before he became Robin, when he was still living on the streets. He was running away from a restaurant that he'd robbed and his hand got sliced open with a knife when he had escaped through the kitchen. It was not one of his smoothest or smartest getaways but, hey, he managed to get the money without getting caught by the cops.

It was the first wound that she had stitched up for him. She nearly fainted at the sight of his bloody hand and lectured him about his recklessness and how they should find other means to survive on their own. He, of course, was quick to remind her that if it weren't for him, she'd be dead on the streets so she shouldn't be nagging him about the decisions he made.

Angry, took hold the bag of money he had gotten, she ran to the nearest drug store and came back with a first aid kit. He would have ran after her but the lose of blood had made his head spin. Maybe he _did_ have to be more careful next time.

He cursed like a sailor the entire time she worked on his hand.

 _Don't make a habit out of this, Jason._ She had said to him as she placed a plaster over her stitching. It left much to be desired but it worked.

 _Too late for that._ He gave her a smirk, which promptly earned him a slap on his shoulder.

"I hope this doesn't become a habit of yours." Her voice brought him out of his thoughts and he felt himself go rigid under her touch. She gently covered his wound with a plaster, her cool hands providing comfort against his burning skin.

"A little too late for that, Suri," he finds himself saying, spinning his seat to face away from the kitchen table. She had made her way around the kitchen table to tidy up the first aid kit.

"...Jason..."

For the second time that night he felt his heart stop and he waited with bated breath for her to speak again.

"That was his name..." She whispered, relieved. "I thought I'd forgotten..."

"You said his name the night I saved you. Who is he?" He asked as he stood up from his seat. He contemplated turning around to face her but he wasn't sure if he was ready to see her face just yet so he focused his gaze on the sofa that they've shared so many time before.

"He's... a friend..."

"You don't sound sure."

"I'm not."

He felt his jaw clench. "What do you mean you're not?"

She's quiet.

"He must have been someone important to you." He turns around and sees that she's distracted herself with the first aid kit, rearranging the supplies. "You threw your life away just to hallucinate about him!"

She doesn't speak and he nearly loses his temper. He wants to scream at her _I'M HERE! I'M JASON!_ But he doesn't know how she'd react to that. He decides to just let her piece everything together herself so he approaches her and forces her to look at him.

She keeps her eyes closed.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice wavering. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad." He releases a sigh and her chin. She ducks her head and her mousy hair hides her face. "I just don't like it when people lie to me."

"I wasn't lying."

"I... I know you, Suri. I know when you're lying to me."

"...don't make fun of me, okay?" She shuffles her feet and he's tempted to make her look at him again. He wants to see her eyes. He misses them. "I... I don't remember a lot of things, you know that, but... I remember Jason."

"Who was he to you?"

"He...took care of me. We were both orphans living on the streets and he helped me. I would have died years ago if it weren't for him." He hears her sniff. She's crying. "I loved him."

He stares at the top of her head in shock. What did she just say?

"He died before I could tell him that." Her hands move to wipe the tears from her eyes. "He was everything to me, really. I know I shouldn't have gotten into drugs but I was young and devastated and the people who sold them to me promised me that I would get to see him again if I take them."

She's quiet.

"I don't remember much after that. All I remember is that I did get to see Jason again..." She laughs. "It wouldn't have been a surprise to me if I found out that the drugs killed me, to be honest."

It's his turn to be quiet. It's a lot of information to take in and he's not quiet sure what to do about it yet.

"Hey, I want to thank you for saving me that night." She's gone back to fixing the first aid kit. "I see now that if it wasn't for you, I would probably be waking up in some stranger's bed or, you know, dead. I'm really glad that you've taken me away from that life."

"...It's no problem." He manages to say before collecting his things. "I'll...go to my room."

He doesn't give her a chance to wish him good night.

* * *

 _A/N: Hello! Here's chapter 3 and I hope you all enjoyed it :) Stay tuned for the next chapter!_

 _Don't forget to leave a review and tell me what you think!_

 _I only own what I own_


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